pathologistnextdoor:

You Should See Me In A Crown: The Warehouse

pathologistnextdoor:

moriarty-iou:

Moriarty pulled open the large warehouse door, analyzing the scene before him. Anderson and Molly Hooper were handcuffed on the warehouse floor, and Harrison was, oddly, taped to the wall (Oh, Seb did have his moods).

“Hello boys and girls!” he said,…

 Molly tensed, but she didn’t respond; she wouldn’t let herself. She couldn’t event afford a whimper as Moriarty lifted her off the ground, didn’t even struggle at the sight of meet hook. The metal felt so cold against her hands and wrists, the tip of it drawing a thin line on her arm—not quite drawing blood yet—as Jim looped the handcuffs over the hook.

She tried to relax her body, tried to keep the strain off her arms. It wasn’t working of course, but Molly so desperately wanted to try something, give her some small degree of control over this. Molly continued to remain absolutely silent, absolutely still. She didn’t want to say anything, for fear that her voice would betray her absolute terror.

Mustering her willpower, Molly set her gaze onto Jim, her face set into as cold a glare as she could manage. He could probably see right through it; anyone could. It was her act of defiance, though; her silence and her glare and her refusal to let him know just how scared she was.

“Such a brave little soldier,” mocked Moriarty. “Let’s see how long it takes to crumble this little stoic act.”

Sebastian reappeared wheeling a cart filled with an assortment of tools and toys- knives, scissors, pliers, a blowtorch, needles- so many different options. While Moriarty hovered over the cart, Seb grabbed Molly’s ankles, pulling her shoes and socks off before securing heavy weights to her ankles, securing them together and making movement virtually impossible. The thought the strain now on her muscles made Moriarty positively giddy.

Finally, Moriarty did not pick up any of the tools, but merely pulled on a pair of slim leather gloves, cracking his knuckles before wrapping his hands around Molly’s slim neck, squeezing.

He was horrifically good at this, knowing the exact amount of pressure that would block the windpipe without crushing it, how long a person could be deprived of oxygen before the brain was damaged. He let go when she was moments away from passing out, giving her a moment to fill her lungs before strangling her again.

And again.

And again.